


His Mouth Painted Red

by tanyart



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Gags, Kink Meme, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-19
Updated: 2011-01-19
Packaged: 2017-10-14 21:40:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/153722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanyart/pseuds/tanyart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One way to stop the voices in your head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Mouth Painted Red

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the AC kink meme. The prompt was gags and ties. I apologize for the unpolished state of the fic; I wrote this quite unexpectedly!

Desmond had always known he was going a little crazy.  A little crazy was just fine.  He supposed that he was proud of himself for holding onto his sanity for as long as he had, despite all of Lucy’s worries.  It only worried him when a little would turn into _a lot_.  Seeing creepy ghosts? Yeah, he could handle that.  Learning how to kill people from dead relatives? No sweat.  Symbols on the walls?

Sure, whatever.

But, if anything, Desmond was convinced it was going to be the voices in his head that would give the final push into a place he liked to think as ‘pretty fucking batshit insane’.  You could close your eyes against glowing doodles and ghosts, and you could always _not_  sneakily stab at people walking by—but it was different with the voices.  Desmond could cover his ears all he wanted; they weren’t going to go away, unless he lopped off his own head.  Luckily, Desmond wasn’t at the point where he could decide if being dead was better than being crazy.  With a little more luck, maybe he wouldn’t have to.

Fingers crossed, right?

There were moments in the Animus where he was left idle in a white void, a space between reality and genetic memory.  Most of the time he was alone, either as Altair or Ezio, but, sometimes, they would be there _with_  him.  Desmond didn’t mind it so much; if he was going to start talking to the voices in his head, he’d rather have them manifest themselves into a form, real or not.

With Altair, it hadn’t been so bad.  The man was silent, not given in to being chatty or even very friendly.  Ezio, on the other hand, was the near polar opposite—much to Desmond’s complete lack of surprise—and a bit of a flirt to boot.

“You could always just ask us to be silent.”

“Well then, Ezio, will you please stop talking?” Desmond said, not bothering to hide his sarcasm. 

“Ma mi sei mancato, Desmond.  And who will keep you company?” Ezio said in his pleasant Italian drawl, filling every sound, every consonant.  It didn’t skimp over vowels like Desmond’s own run-of-the-mill American accent; it wrapped every letter up and rolled them over the tongue, warm, rich and so thick that Desmond was willing to bet spaghetti sauce would just spew from Ezio’s mouth one of these days.

He gave Ezio a miserable stare, thoroughly unimpressed.  Desmond had, after all, seen him flirt with a million girls, so there weren’t many charming lines Ezio could say that hadn’t already been said in one way or another.  Peering into Ezio’s face, he gave his ancestor a crooked little smile.

“How do I get you to shut up?” Desmond wondered aloud.  He leaned closer,  annoyed to find that Ezio did not seemed bothered by his proximity and, from the darkening look in his gaze, appeared to be encouraging it. 

When he finally did bring himself to touch Ezio, just a few fingers against the scar that was so much like his own, Desmond found it disconcerting to feel the softness of his lips, the notched line of pale skin, and how it brought pressure and warmth beneath his fingertips.  It was nothing like the silver outlines of the ghosts he saw outside the Animus.

“You could kiss me,” Ezio suggested, his breath teasing over Desmond’s palm.  One more tiny step forward, and he was pressed against Desmond’s body, all too solid to not be real.  “Then maybe I will be quieter, hm?”

“Oh, no,” Desmond replied, standing his ground even as he admitted, “I’ve seen you kiss, and it sucks that not everything is passed through the Bleeding Effect.”

Ezio raised an eyebrow, not understanding, but his smirk acknowledged Desmond’s compliment, grudging as it was.

“It must be hard,” Desmond continued, settling his hands on Ezio’s waist, “to be whispering all those sweet nothings to those girls.  Sometimes I get the feeling that you just like the sound of your own voice.”

“So you’ve been listening,” Ezio said, almost growling and, oh, for once Desmond would like to hear that deep rumble cut off and _break_.

“I’ve _been_  you,” he replied, and trailed his hand to the back of Ezio’s neck under the fall of hair.  Ezio had one of his hands pressed against the small of his back, already bending his head for a kiss.

Desmond angled away, fixing his gaze at a faraway spot, and imagined the Animus desktop—scroll down, virtual training mode, select—and blinked.

“Do you trust me?” he asked as the matrix shifted all around them, shivering from the cool metal of Ezio’s breastplate through his shirt.

“Do you trust yourself?” Ezio countered, unfazed by the way he was pushed against a wall made entirely of black data that had, apparently, sprung up from out of nowhere.  

“Now _there’s_  a question,” Desmond said, amused, and thought back to the desktop; items, armor, unequipped.  So easy.

There was a flicker of discomfort in Ezio’s expression as his armor disappeared, and Desmond wondered how much the other man found this strange—to be in a matrix with the occasional black walls and strings of numbers as far as the eye can see, and to be cornered by another man with the same face.

“A neat trick,” Ezio conceded, nipping at Desmond’s jaw.  His hands were moving, sliding under the jacket to brush along Desmond’s sides.  “No doubt you are full of them, but allow me to take care of the rest; I will make it feel good, I promise.”

It was tempting, it really was.  Desmond felt his mouth go dry at Ezio’s teeth at his neck, the gentle pressure of Ezio’s leg between his thighs.  He groaned and worked his hands beneath the scarlet sash around Ezio’s waist.  He tugged it free, letting the belt fall to the ground.  Ezio was good with his mouth, no doubt, but Desmond wasn’t the type of person that required the whisper of sweet words in his ear.   

The scarlet sash had always been Desmond’s favorite.  There was something elegant in the way it fluttered next to Ezio when he jumped from building to building, bright over the white of his robes, over the blue sky, over the smirking curve of his lips—

“One more trick,” Desmond rasped, and snapped the sash up and around Ezio’s head.  Ezio gave a startled grunt, muffled from the cloth.

By all accounts, they should have been evenly matched.  Ezio was still a newly made assassin, clean-shaven and cocky in the way that some young men were, and Desmond was getting all he could from the Bleeding Effect.

But Altair had always been better at tying knots.

Ezio bared his teeth, pointed canines peeking through the gag.  His lips were turning dark from where the sash had rubbed against the corners of his mouth, swollen where Desmond had bitten and sucked as he stretched the long piece of fabric to tie Ezio’s hands behind his back. 

“There, now you don’t have to feel obligated to talk,” Desmond panted from where they had fallen.  He hadn’t meant to fight, but the moment he saw the telltale bulge in Ezio’s pants, he had realized the other man’s struggling had been halfhearted, and it lay forth a burning coil in the pit of his stomach.  “This is something we both want, right?”

Even with the cloth in his mouth, Ezio managed to smirk, wiggling his body to sit up against the wall.  Desmond could imagine Ezio’s voice, rough and drawling; _you want me to be quiet? Fine.  There won’t be another noise from me, caro mio._  

“I never said anything about noises,” Desmond murmured, and picked at the laces of Ezio’s shirt, enjoying the rise and fall of his chest and how it hitched when Desmond tweaked a hardening nipple.  “I’m just not interested in what you have to say.”

And, well, wouldn’t you know it—Ezio replied back in a series of muffled words, even _waited_  for Desmond to respond before chuckling.

“Unbelievable,” Desmond muttered, letting his hands fall at either side of Ezio’s legs while he knelt in between them.  Glancing up, he saw that Ezio was looking intently at him.

He spoke again, but even with the gag, Desmond could hear him say _get on with it_.

 _I’ll make you forget what words even are_ , Desmond thought, and gave Ezio a kiss on the cheek, innocent and sweet except for the way his hand reached down to palm Ezio’s growing erection, pressing and squeezing until he saw Ezio’s eyes drift shut and brow furrow.  It was so quiet, save for their breathing, fast but still even.  Desmond marveled at the silence and sent a trail of kisses down Ezio’s neck, only to bite him hard at the base where the shoulder connected.  Ezio grunted, elbows banging against the wall but still unable to free his hands.  His skin was wonderfully salty, and Desmond couldn’t help but run his lips over and downward so that he could taste how Ezio became increasingly hot and breathless under him.  He squeezed again and Ezio’s hips jerked upwards, seeking more pressure from Desmond’s hand.

Grinning, Desmond tugged at Ezio’s pants, loving every moment Ezio struggled to brace his back against the wall to shakily lift his hips.  They got his pants as far as his ankles before Desmond spat into his hand and wrapped it around Ezio’s cock, teasing the wet slit with the pad of his thumb.

Ezio made a tiny noise in his throat.  He said something, then, but Desmond started to stroke him in earnest and Ezio turned his head away with a frustrated moan.

It took a while, but Desmond began to understand Ezio’s little twitches and seemingly incomprehensible mumbles.  If he leaned his body against Ezio while giving his cock a long, drawn out caress, he could recognize the words _yes_  and _oh god_  and _please_.  Pump faster and Ezio was reduced to a soft litany of _ah, ah, ah_ , turning the scarlet sash dark and wet in his mouth. 

Desmond withdrew his hand, rubbing slick his fingers with pre-cum.  Ezio, now panting, eyed him warily.  With a short laugh, Desmond lowered his head and licked along the shaft of Ezio’s cock, mouthing around the tip and fondling the balls.

There was the sound of a muffled thump—Ezio had lolled his head against the wall—and he keened, bucking into Desmond’s mouth.  Desmond almost gagged, which would have been laughably ironic, and pulled away.  His teeth accidentally scraped against the sensitive flesh and Ezio gave a muffled cry, a whining sound between pain and want.

Attention caught, Desmond just _had_  to glance up and see Ezio; Ezio with his flushed face shining under a layer of sweat, his shirt slipping off one shoulder, hair disheveled and coming loose from its tie.  It was enough to make Desmond finally notice the throbbing tightness in his pants.

Groaning, Desmond sat back and unzipped his pants, giving his cock a few swift pulls.  God, he could come just by looking at how utterly wrecked Ezio looked, legs spread apart and slack-jawed.

“ _Nngh,_ ” Ezio moaned, eyes dark and glassy but fixed on Desmond jerking himself off.  His hips twitched upwards, humping nothing but the air—Christ, Desmond wasn’t even _touching_  him—

“Oh, fuck,” he choked out, and came into his own hand, almost falling onto Ezio.  It would have been embarrassing, but at least he wasn’t the one tied up. “Ah, fucking _fuck_ …”

He would have sat there, dazed, but Ezio was making noises, always making noises, and Desmond couldn’t place the usual cadence of words that formed sentences; Ezio was simply babbling.

The older assassin had slipped down the wall, propping himself up with his elbows.  His cock was erect and leaking, and Desmond had no trouble bringing his hand around it once more, keeping a gentle yet firm grip at the base.  Ezio nearly went limp at the touch, emitting a noise that sounded suspiciously like a sob of relief.  Desmond worked his hand, lazy at first, but Ezio started to thrash, forcing Desmond to shift over and slot himself next to him, keeping the both of them propped against the wall.

 It was better this way, perhaps, with Ezio pressing his face against Desmond’s shoulder, thrusting in time to his strokes, mewling and desperate.  With one last twist of his wrist, Desmond watched as Ezio’s whole body went still for a moment before shuddering violently. 

“Go ahead a make all the noises you want,” he breathed, nuzzling his cheek to the damp cloth of the gag.

Ezio’s screams were muffled and choked as he came in thick, white spurts, covering Desmond’s hand.  Letting him fall boneless to the side, Desmond untied the red sash, wiping his hand with it as he did.  The gag fell away from Ezio’s gasping mouth as Desmond placed a hand on his face, turning his head.

“Well?” he asked.

Ezio was silent, breathing hard and looking a little annoyed, but he did not say a single word.

Desmond sighed.

* * *

When he opened his eyes, the first thing Desmond did was give the front of his pants a discreet pat.  Lucky for him, everything seemed to be behaving themselves, and he sat up from the Animus.

“You need a break?” Rebecca asked from her spot at the desk.

Curiously, Desmond found that his head was clear and blessedly quiet, free from any other voices but his own thoughts.  He glanced around the little set-up of electrical hardware amongst the ruins and was unsurprised to find the silvery outlines of ghosts still floating within his vision.

But hey, he could handle those.  No problem.

“Nah, I think can do a few more hours,” he said, lying back down.

“Yeah, Ezio’s waiting,” Rebecca said, hooking him back up.


End file.
